


Roots( Lawrence Oleander x Reader)

by unfortunately7



Category: Boyfriend to Death (Visual Novels)
Genre: Bulbs, Lawrence is precious, Other, Plant stuff, Root Cellars, a good man, idk honestly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-11-08 11:36:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17980577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unfortunately7/pseuds/unfortunately7
Summary: "Nothing would sleep in that cellar, dank as a ditch,Bulbs broke out of boxes hunting for chinks in the dark,Shoots dangled and drooped,Lolling obscenely from mildewed crates,Hung down long yellow evil necks, like tropical snakes.And what a congress of stinks!Roots ripe as old bait,Pulpy stems, rank, silo-rich,Leaf-mold, manure, lime, piled against slippery planks.Nothing would give up life:Even the dirt kept breathing a small breath."Root Cellar by Theodore Roethke





	Roots( Lawrence Oleander x Reader)

**Author's Note:**

> Based on one of my favorite poems. This is noting but an outpouring of my love for Lawrence.

Lawrence smiled as he walked through the woods. It was dark, and the moon was only just full enough to allow him to see where he was going. He was very happy, a slightly unfamiliar feeling for him. It was time for him to check his root cellar.

He had built it several years ago, dug it out one night, intending to plant a body there later on. It was just outside of an abandoned cabin with an overgrown lawn that he had found during his midnight wanderings. The next day, he intended to find someone to make into art, but instead he had found a box of tulip bulbs at a store he frequented. They were so strange, clinging to life even away from their own medium (just like him), so he had bought them. 

Unfortunately, there was no suitable space in his apartment to leave them until he could plant them some day. It was much too warm for bulb-storage. So instead of using the hole as a grave, he used it as a root cellar. Taking old boards from the cabin and digging a bit more, he had extended it and fortified it until it was suitable for his purposes. Inspired by his handiwork, he bought more bulbs, until he had an extensive collection all lining the shelves of the cellar. He loved them, dead but not dead, just like him. It was wonderful.

He knew a poem he learned when he was little, one that enticed him even then, about a root cellar like his. It always played in his head when he went here, over and over again until he found himself walking in time with the poem's rhythm. He murmured it to himself as he walked down the winding trail.

"Nothing would sleep in that cellar, dank as a ditch."

He understood that well. Sleeping for half-dead things was hard. So many nightmares, terrible, terrible nightmares. They haunted them.

"Bulbs broke out of boxes hunting for chinks in the dark."

Searching for a place, just like he did, every time he brought someone out here, trying to find a place where they could be alone, a spot in their own little world. 

"Shoots dangled and drooped,  
Lolling obscenely from mildewed crates,  
Hung down long yellow evil necks, like tropical snakes."

His root cellar fascinated him. Things reaching out of the shadows, trying desperately to find something they would never encounter, not until he gave it to them. They reached and reached, struggling, clinging to life they couldn't have.

"And what a congress of stinks!  
Roots ripe as old bait,  
Pulpy stems, rank, silo-rich."

At last, he spotted the old cabin ahead. he couldn't wait to see them. They had been there several weeks now.He didn't know what he had done, but it was beautiful. He had come out here every night just to watch as they turned to the most beautiful art before his eyes.

The door creaked as he opened it, as did the stairs he had built with careful care. The scent of earth and rot hit him as he walked downwards. Off the wall, he grabbed a small lantern, lighting it to illuminate the small space.The smell of the oil and the bulbs was heady and wonderful, made even better by them.

"Leaf-mold, manure, lime, piled against slippery planks."

The dirt floor was tamped down, and against free spaces on the walls spilled piles of thing for gardening. he would use them someday soon, though he didn't know when. He was too busy watching over them to bother with another garden.

They lay there, pinned to the floor by roots. Mold covered part of their body, hair-thin fibrous growths lacing through their skin and hair. Tubers housed in the delicate curve of their abdominal cavity. They were perfect, giving life even as it seeped out of them ever so slowly.

They were not dead, something quite odd. Instead, they kept on living, kept going. He had no idea how. He knelt down beside them. Their eyes opened, hazy, skin flushed with the fever of infection. He stroked the moss on their cheeks tenderly. "Hey there. I- I'm glad you're still here. Clinging... clinging just like-" his eyes flickered up to the boxes of roots and bulbs, all reaching towards the warm body on the floor "-like them."

Their chest shuddered with the struggle of breathing as roots overtook their system. But still, somehow, like him, like the bulbs, they clung to life.

"Nothing would give up life:  
Even the dirt kept breathing a small breath."

**Author's Note:**

> Please comment and tell me what you thought!


End file.
